


Discord

by Kyne_7



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Original Character(s), Post-Recall, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyne_7/pseuds/Kyne_7
Summary: Ettie Courtland didn't ask for her family name. Her father's occupation, his alliances, have brought her and her brother Tom nothing but trouble since they were kids. Even now, after his death, the ripples of his decisions are still being felt when Tom goes missing and Ettie herself, on a mission to find him, winds up tangled with Henry Courtland's old acquaintances.Not to mention a mysterious archer and a ridiculous cowboy, neither of whom will leave her alone, and one of whom seems to know an awful lot about her.And why is there a file labeled, "Eris," with her face on it?





	Discord

The night was warm, muggy, constricting despite the loose shorts and tank top she wore. It was a sweltering evening in Kyoto to start with, made worse by the man at the other end of the alley. He grinned at her, sweat dripping down the small of her back; he had cornered her in this alley when she got turned around on her walk, and she asked herself for the millionth time what she was doing here. Not just here in the alley, lost and alone at night in an unfamiliar town; here in a foreign country on a mission to find someone who was either dead or truly, truly despised her. The walk was a bad idea, the town, the whole lot of it. And now, as the man informed her that he was not alone, two more cutting off her exit, she realized she was going to die for this bad idea.

* * *

 

Ethel Courtland, daughter of Henry, sister to Thomas. It was all there in her thick file, seven years in the making. Her father’s was smaller, most of the content switched to hers—after all, why keep a file on a dead man?

They’d been keeping tabs on her and her brother since Henry’s death, and now they’d lost the both of them; Thomas in Tokyo and Ethel in the north of France. She’d resurfaced, briefly, sloppily, in Shanghai, just enough for them to realize she was slipping them on purpose—in preparation, Jack Morrison had sent a few low-radar Overwatch agents to Tokyo, guessing the eastward nature of her final destination. But she’d never made it to Tokyo and she hadn’t cropped up since then, and Jack was starting to get nervous.

The good news came unexpectedly, weeks after in a brief undetailed report from Jesse McCree of all people.

“Tracked target to Kyoto,” it read. “Girl here with him. Think it’s Courtland. Next step?”

Jack had choked on his morning coffee, sputtering and spilling the hot liquid. His answer was sent back so quickly he almost misspelled in his excitement.

“Courtland is your top priority.”

McCree responded back in the affirmative.

What was Courtland’s girl doing with an assassin?

* * *

It all happened so quickly, and she _knew_ that was a cliche but her mind wouldn’t keep up.

The men were dead now, she gathered that much from the bodies, the pools of blood, the arrows protruding from vital areas. The new man stood in front of her now, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. He was clearly Japanese, his hair tied up with a ribbon and his eyes dark and unfathomable as he turned his attention to her. His traditional clothing hung off one shoulder, revealing a complex, detailed dragon tattoo. She realized she was staring and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. _Come on, Ettie, get it together, he just killed three people!_

He muttered something in Japanese and she took a halting step back.

“Look, I don’t—” She almost tripped backward. “I didn’t see anything, okay? I won’t tell. They were threatening me, so I mean you kind of saved me, so I guess thank you? I mean—”

He bent down by one of the bodies, lifted the dead man’s shirt. “Yakuza,” he said, showing her a dark tattoo along the man’s back as if that provided a crystal clear explanation.

Ettie gulped. What kind of man killed yakuza? And he had a tattoo, did that make _him_ yakuza? Had she stumbled into some kind of turf war?

“I’m not with them!” she said hurriedly, suddenly worried he’d lump her with them. Did he even speak English? Was she babbling?

“ _Hai_ ,” he said, coming closer.

Ettie took a step back, tripping over one of the bodies. “I-I said that out loud?”

“ _Hai_ ,” he said again. The moonlight caught on his dark hair, illuminating just how harsh his face looked, and she audibly squeaked. “Stop scrambling. I won’t hurt you.”

“S-So you did save me?”

Here, he hesitated. “An...unforeseen consequence.”

 _Oh._ “I...I can leave, right? Really, I promise, I won’t say anything—I’m trying to stay off the grid, I won’t cause any trouble—”

“Who are you?” he demanded next with narrowed eyes, and she felt shivers run down her spine despite the warm temperatures. “Why would Talon envoys target a girl like you?”

Ettie felt her confusion rise to overtake her fear. “I’m sorry, Talon? What’s Talon, is that the name of the gang? I told you, I’m not involved with them, I’m just taking a walk—I’m staying just a few streets over—I think—”

Quick as a shot, the man was covering her mouth with his gloved hand, eyes looking at something over his shoulder. He put a finger to his lips and waited for her brief, terrified nod before removing his hand, drawing his bow and notching an arrow. Either he didn’t notice her fear or didn’t care, leveling the bow so the arrow nearly brushed her earlobe.

“Spied me already, didja?” drawled a deep voice, definitely American and definitely out of place in Kyoto in the middle of the night. Maybe Southern?

Ettie was trembling, sweating, and a high-pitched whimper sounded in the back of her throat. The man’s eyes flicked to her temporarily, annoyed, and then back.

“I’m impressed,” came the Southern voice again. Maybe not Southern, Ettie’s frazzled mind supplied. But there was a twang. Like a cowboy in those Westerns her dad used to like. “A bit disappointed in myself, to tell the truth, but mighty impressed. Now, kindly step away from the girl, huh, partner?”

“Definitely a cowboy,” she murmured, dizzy on her feet and feeling a little delirious.

The Japanese man shot her a quick glare but she barely noticed, reeling and cursing her bad luck.

“I have no business with the girl,” said the man, though he didn’t move from where he stood. He kept his bow trained on the cowboy.

“If that’s true, then how’s about comin’ with me, darlin’?” the cowboy asked.

Ettie turned, slow and wary. She didn’t recognize him, though she wondered why she thought she should. He was _very_ much a cowboy—boots with spurs, a holster on his hip that held a six-shot revolver, an obnoxious gold belt buckle with the letters, “BAMF,” embossed on it, red serape, even a fucking cowboy hat. She’d have laughed if she wasn’t so scared.

“Are you from a comic book?” she muttered, and upon realizing she’d yet again spoken aloud, gave a wholehearted panicked cry and held up her hands. “Sorry, I’m sorry, sometimes I just say things.”

The man laughed. “No worries, sweet pea, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I knew Tom, I’m just here to take you somewhere safe.”

“I-I’ve been plenty safe,” she denied. “I just want to be left alone—”

“Now, hon, don’t be like that,” the cowboy urged.

“And how do I know you’re not lying about knowing Tom? The last time someone said they knew my brother was in Rennes, and she—” Ettie bit her lip. “She was lying.”

The archer was waiting, patient and still like a statue. She was still scared of him, still terrified of the arrow hovering by her cheek, but at least this man didn’t want anything from her, didn’t know anything about her family—

“C’mon, sweet pea,” the cowboy said, voice low and soothing. His eyes glanced to the archer, weighing his options. “My name is Jesse. Tom probably mentioned me, do you remember?”

The name was vaguely familiar. “Jesse,” she repeated. “He owes you a bottle of vodka.”

Jesse winced. “I’m more of a whisky guy, darlin’. He owes me a bottle of single malt.”

That had been a test, and he passed. Tom used to mention Jesse McCree, his occasional drinking buddy—when he was in town, anyway, and Ettie remembered thinking her brother’s friend was into something shady.

“I believe you,” she whispered. “But I’m still not going anywhere with you.” She fiddled with her wrist, turning a thick silver bracelet over and over, a motion which the man behind her caught. ‘I told you, I just want to be left alone.”

“I know you’re looking fer your brother,” said Jesse. “I can help.”

“How do I know you’re not the reason he ran off?” Ettie snapped. “I don’t _know_ you.” She threw her bracelet on the ground. “Might want to cover your eyes, or this’ll really suck for you.” She pressed on something at her temple and tinted glasses spread over the bridge of her nose.

“What—”

She felt the archer pull away from her just before the bracelet exploded into a blinding flash bomb, and she bolted past the stunned cowboy. That was her last trick, the last tool she’d stolen from her dad’s workshop, and she didn’t have the resources to make more. She hadn’t wanted to use it, intending to save it—she’d even hesitated to use it with the yakuza, knowing she probably wouldn’t have been able to get past three of them. But she’d do anything to get away, and the flash bang would have bought her a few minutes to put some space between them—

“If your room is at a ryokan, the nearest is in the Gion district,” said a low voice. “You have wandered far from the Gion district.”

She spun on her heel, hearing him but not seeing him. “How…?”

“I will escort you back and provide directions,” he said. “If you provide something in return.” Her mind went to the worst possible things he could ask for. Maybe she should’ve stuck with the cowboy…

“What do you want?” Her mouth was dry.

“Your name, to start.”

“Ethel,” she said, swallowing. “You can call me Ettie, everyone does.”

“And your last name, Ethel?”

Oh. she could tell already this man would be difficult. “I...I can’t.” Everything always changed when people found out her name.

“I understand.” Shit, had she said _that_ out loud, too? “I know what it is like to be part of an...infamous family.”

She waited for him to elaborate or provide his name in return, or at least show himself—instead, he simply said, “Take the next left.”


End file.
